


A Game of Clones

by claritylore



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Blue Umbrella, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claritylore/pseuds/claritylore
Summary: Chris Redfield and the newly formed Blue Umbrella head to Isle Alexandria to clear up the mess left behind by Alex Wesker. Turns out, there were a few hidden experiments in the base who have been unleashed, as per usual.And if Chris thought he'd finally seen the last of his nemesis, Albert Wesker, well... no, no, no, no and - no.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

There was a voice surrounding him, speaking words, too distant to be understood. A strange chuckle of a laugh, muted through glass, and the voice came closer, a dark shadow that blocked out the light.

"It seems my plans are to be accelerated," it said. "Very well. Time for the game to begin."

Something clicked nearby and the shadow disappeared. The man finally let his eyes flutter open to the light above, and to the new world he was birthed into. 

He was behind a wall of cracked glass, thick red seeping through the lines and dripping down onto him. There were distant crackling sounds in the air, like electrical wires snapping, and the distant blare of an alarm, punctuated by rumbling explosions he could feel pulse through him.

Immediate panic gripped him and he pushed forward against the barrier. The glass shifted upwards and parts shattered still more, leaking entrails and gore from something that had been splattered on top of it straight down onto him. 

The man struggled out of his glass tomb, wincing as he landed on shattered glass with bare feet. The lights above him were harsh and he had to shield his eyes to let his surroundings finally appear. 

It was some sort of tube, he now saw, though he had no idea of how he came to be there or why. The one he had climbed out of was not the only one; there were five of them in a line, though his was the only one relatively in tact. 

The first tube in the row of htem gaped open widely, burst with such force that the metal had lifted and bent into drooping petal shapes, bursts of white gas from some severed line within it periodically spurting. Another had no glass frontage at all, the inside smeared with red splatter and garish lines. The next was barely recognisable, so smashed up as to be just a lump of metal and broken shards. The only other one, next to his, looked burned out completely on the inside and at all of its joins, and on closer inspection he shuddered to see the charred remains of a corpse, its hands frozen into claws that had been scratching at the glass.

He reeled back from the smell of it, coughing, and slipped over on something, landing on a freezing cold metal floor.

There was some creature there, green and mottled like a frog, but with huge claws, its eyes burst, a gaping hole where its insides used to be. He snatched his hand away from the viscera and blood it landed in, skittering to get away from the disgusting thing. 

His heart beat hard as he tried to get back to his feet, shivering from the cold metal touching his naked skin. 

Something was groaning nearby. His ears pricked up to it and he immediately froze, holding his breath. After a moment of listening, he could pinpoint it to somewhere on the other side of the smashed open doorway, somewhere to the right, distant but audible to him still. It was shuffling.

Then he realised, it was more than one groan. 

He wanted nothing more that to cower and hide, somewhere, anywhere. But there was no safety in remaining where he was, that much was obvious.

The man slowly padded forward and went to the doorway, risking a glance outside into the remains of a corridor. It looked pretty messed up, with a lot of ceiling and wall panels completely smashed in, vents and wires tumbling out from above. There was smoke seeping out and hanging in the air, and it prevented him from seeing far enough to know what was making the groaning sound. Then he saw feet, shambling through the it, coming slowly his way. The acid stench of blood and rot hit his nostrils and knew, somehow, that he had to get away.

Breathing all the heavier, he looked back into the room he had been in, his place of birth, seeking something that might help him understand what was happening. It was mostly bare, but there was at least a console of some kind at the front, attached to the five tubes with cables. Quickly, he swept over to it, but there was no power to lights its screen. He traced its cabling with his eyes and saw that the thick wires that should have gone into the wall were laying on the floor, casting sparks and juddering at the force.

He considered hiding behind the console, hoping they would pass by and not see him, but he knew somehow that it would make no difference. Nor could he climb back into the tube which he had awoken within; he knew, somehow, innately, as the prey knows the work of predators, that it would leave him with no way to escape the inevitable.

The only action he could take was to run, fast, now. The man braced himself and padded over the glass to the smashed up doorway, shivering with fear at the idea of running into the darkness with no idea of what might be out there. 

At the very moment he moved to make his run, something swept past him with such force that the lightest brush of it against was enough to throw him backwards. The air filled with the sound of growls, like a wild animal raging, and then he could hear tearing, wet sounds. The moans he had been hearing ended abruptly, raspy snarling breaths replacing them. 

Whatever it was began to walk back along the corridor, heavily, with an irregular gait. But it didn't walk far, speeding up quickly, stomping nearer and nearer, and the man scrambled backwards, not caring about the glass and the bits of metal everywhere, only knowing that he had to get away from... whatever it was.

It had to bend itself down to pass through the entrance it was so enormous. Once inside, it stood for a moment with the smoke cascading behind it, some kind of huge monster, taller than any man, its insides and bones somehow too big for the skin and sinew stretched over them. Its long legs and arms pulsed with veins, the left side of its body misshapen with lumps and long sharp-looking horns and claws, and a cluster of something orange and pulsing embedded in its chest. The face of it was strangely human and in tact, though its mouth was twisted into a drawn snarl, the skin too stretched.

As it stomped forward, it smiled and he thought he saw the bulging and staring eyes flash red. 

The man didn't know much of anything, including his own name, but he knew it was going to pounce and he had to get out of the way or find out how sharp those claws were first hand. He duly leapt aside and felt the swipe come within an inch of his flesh. 

Adrenalin flooded his veins as he rolled to his feet and put as much distance as he could between himself and the monster.

It growled against and then stomped closer, still smirking oddly. "Inferior," it spat as it approached, its voice guttural, spluttering as it spoke. "Hold still... while... I kill you."

Again, he dodged a lunge, and the creature growled in frustration. 

"You... cannot win," it told him. "Discarded... worthless..."

The man's eyes fell onto the crackling electrical cable coming from the console and shuffled backwards, luring the creature closer as he did. At the moment of its inevitable thrust forwards at him, he grabbed the cable and jammed it as hard as he could into the throbbing orange thing on its chest. 

Somehow he managed to avoid its flailing arms and ended up with his back to the wall as it wailed and twisted itself in agony, finally collapsing towards him. It managed to crawl a few paces, it's claw outstretched towards him threateningly.

The man squeezed his eyes shut against the nightmare, only sliding them open again at the heavy sound of its collapse and the pained gurgling which followed.

He slid along the cold wall and finally managed to make a run for it, a shivering, naked, frightened figure cast into the darkness of an unknown world.

There were body parts strewn all around the corridor and he tried his best to ignore the soft bits of gore he was stepping in as he ran along, focusing completely on his target; the door at the end, a panel on it illuminated brightly like a beacon of hope.

He went to it and tried to slide it open, but the panel made a bleeping sound and flashed up a legend, reading: 'Unauthorised access.' A computer voice said, 'Level 5 clearance required. Please update your wristband access code.'

The man tried it again but it wouldn't budge and gave the same perfunctory message. He rested his forehead against it for a moment, finding the door just as cold as everything else in the place he had awoken in. 

_Wristband. A band for a wrist._

He slowly turned, contemplating going back the way he came, but worried that the beast was not put down for good and might be waiting for him if he did. A blinking light caught his eye and he stepped closer to the source, finding a severed arm with a wristband on it. 

It seemed like it might be worth a try. The act of touching it was disgusting to him and he near wretched as he pulled the band off from the limp grey body part. 

As he returned to the door that was obstructing him, a speaker somewhere crackled to life and there was a voice, chuckling. It was the same one as before. 

He looked up and noticed it was coming from something in the corner of the ceiling, with a red light and a circular pane of glass in it. He didn't know what it was but knew somehow that it meant someone was watching him.

"Very good number Five," it said, sounding oddly sly and mocking. "Perhaps not such a failure after all."

Not knowing what to make of what was being said, he continued back to the door and presented the wristband to it.

"Oh no need for that," said his watcher. "Access has been granted. And now, all there is to say is, fair thee well."

The door slid open with a droll whoosh and he flinched, half expecting someone to be standing on the other side.

Instead, he found himself inside a much more pristine hallway with up-lit white floors and walls, and a reception desk of some kind. Off to the side was a door with a symbol on it, like a person, and he wandered into it. Inside he discovered a room with lines of metal doors all along its walls. Lockers, for clothes and gear, he realised belatedly. 

There was a sound of running water and he discovered a box with water cascading inside it off to one side, slightly smashed and bent. A shower. 

As before, the knowledge of what he was seeing came after a pause, as though it was filtering through a barrier to reach him. The water was warm, however, and he eagerly cupped it into his hands to wipe off some of the blood from his body. He also realised then that he was thirsty as well and he drank up as much as he could, not caring about the temperature, only seeking to quench his thirst.

Still blood smeared, but feeling a little better for being slightly cleaner, he tried some of the lockers until he found one that was both unlocked and which had some clothes inside it. The man found a pair of sweatpants and a grey shirt, which immediately warmed his cold skin a little in putting them on. There were some trainers in there as well, but they were too small for his feet, so he put them back where he found them and dutifully closed the door again.

A dripping tap drew his attention and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Fascinated, he approached. He discovered a slender but well muscled form, a shock of messy blonde hair and icy grey eyes staring back. The man rubbed at his jaw, wondering how it was possible that the face was both familiar somehow, yet not familiar at all.

There was a flash of something, being strapped to a table, under bright lights, the voice there again... _"defective"... "unworthy"... "do better"..._

Then it was gone. He stared and stared, finding no knowledge of who he was looking at. It honestly frightened him to the core on some existential level he could not even fathom. 

There was nothing, no memories to call on as to who he was or why he was there. He cleared his throat but, even when he thought words, he could not seem to speak them.

He might have remained there longer, staring into his own private abyss, but the sounds of explosive rumbles suddenly grew closer, and before he knew it, his world was turning sideways and all was pain.


	2. Chapter 2

While the self destruct system had taken care of some of the facility, large parts had been left in tact. Too large to be a mistake. Which was why Chris decided that his team needed to do a full sweep and check what was really down there. 

Barely an hour in and they were already knee deep in zombies from some new viral outbreak which had been festering on the base. It probably should have surprised him, but it didn't. He greeted the task at hand with the same bone weary tiredness that he approached everything with, being so far past sick and tired of the endless fight against biological warfare and terrorism it wasn't even funny. 

He knew he'd already gained something of a reputation amongst his new unit in Blue Umbrella as a hard ass with no sense of humour. Chris thought it was a little unfair in some ways, because he had been quite the opposite once upon a time. But there was no denying that he was a hard Captain to work under these days. Frankly, he'd lost too many men to get close to them now, preferring to keep them all at arms length and focusing on being as effective at keeping them alive as he could. That was more important than making friends and safer for everyone.

His new unit was highly trained and tight knit at least. Chris had taken all of the usual training and tests used for BSSA recruits and raised the bar to make sure only the best of the best were brought in for his division. Only people who could be trusted to keep themselves alive were welcome. He had no time for dead weight these days.

He had no regrets over his approach, watching them calmly approach the situation and get to work taking down the undead hordes in their smaller teams and reporting into him as they went. The mission was to destroy the base but one outer section of the underground facility was suspiciously in tact. Something was down there that Alex Wesker had gone to some effort to conceal before his sister took the bitch down, and that meant they needed to know what the hell it was and make sure it didn't get out. 

The West Section of the facility was much like any other Umbrella base he'd ever encountered or heard about; shiny on the outside, rotten to the core. Chris was immediately put on his guard at the burst walls and smashed up furniture and consoles, which told him that a tyrant was probably on the loose. 

"Just great," he sighed under his breath at the long jagged scrapes along the walls. Kitty had claws, evidently. 

Calmly, he reported it to all teams and gave a command to be on guard and to not engage the target unless a clear weak point was identified and a fast exit point available.

His unit, the Alpha team, consisted of himself, a Philadelphian called Junya Novis and a half-Italian, half-German blonde guy called Bruno Forvetti. They were actually the two he considered the least well disciplined, preferring to ensure that his Delta, Oscar and Bravo teams were able to hold their own without him, keeping the two marginally weaker links close. 

Unfortunately, when the tyrant finally made itself known, Junya was an instant kill, taken by surprise in a truly unfair moment of fate, the creature shambling through a wall to slice him almost in half with its huge claws. Chris felt it right through his core, that pain and shock, as if they had gone through him as well. 

He and Bruno lined up, shoulder to shoulder, and pumped everything they could into it with their fully automatics. The thing flinched and snarled, but it kept progressing towards them, shielding itself from the fire with the huge mutated arm, which pulsed with every hit. 

Chris pulled a grenade and threw it, then he grabbed onto Bruno and pulled him into a run for it around the corner. It seemed unlikely that the blast would slow it much, but at least it would be enough to get away and find some cover. 

"What- what the fuck was that," he heard the man gasp. 

There would be time for questions later, but right now Chris didn't have the patience for it. He looked around and spotted a circular hatch in the floor.

"Doesn't matter. Follow me!" he yelled, and went to pull it open to get down into an area it would be too large to follow them into, so he'd have time to radio the team and warn them.

He sent Bruno down first and then leapt in himself, just as the monster came around the corner. 

"Chrissss..." it hissed, catching him off guard. Bulging red eyes flashed in his direction, and an uncomfortable flutter of a memory froze him for a second. The nightmarish sound it made as it prepared to rush him stirred him up though and he quickly got down and pulled the heavy escape hatch lid closed behind him, engaging its lock just in time, its heavy scratches on the other side clattering noisily.

He breathed heavily, heart thundering, convincing himself it was nothing. A weird mishearing of whatever freakish noises the damned thing was making. Chris slid down the ladder to the bottom, where Bruno was waiting for him, clutching at his gun. 

Chris checked the corridor for immediate threats. Finding nothing of immediate concern, he reported in to his teams and ordered them to avoid engaging with the infected and withdraw from the base, taking standard precautions to ensure it would not spread. 

Once he had delivered his message, he turned to Bruno to issue an order, but his attention was taken with a blinking red light over his shoulder in the far corner. There was a camera, which made little sense, given that it seemed like a maintenance ratrun at first glance. 

It put Chris on guard. He took on a careful stance, which Bruno followed, as they made their way forward through the area. 

At the end, there was a console with a static screen on it. Chris sighed as it powered up, just as they came to it. There was a crackle over the speaker system and Chris heard a familiar chuckle through the fuzz, so subtle he almost could have dismissed it.

But he was not stupid enough to ignore the signs twice. He knew that voice.

"Captain?" Bruno asked, noticing his concerned frown.

"Wesker," he muttered, through gritted teeth. It took him a moment to discern the man's confused look given in return. "Not Alex Wesker. I mean..."

It was there again, the sound of laughter over the PA, and then the area suddenly went red, switching to emergency lightning. 

"I suppose the introductions are not really necessary then, are they?"

Impossibly, it was him. Chris would know that voice anywhere. He glared up into the camera, saying nothing but promising death with his eyes. 

"Now, where were we? Oh yes. You killed me... rude. Very rude. Now, it's my turn."

The console screen flickered into a countdown.

"You have caught me at rather a convenient time, as it happens. I was just about to progress a little, shall we say, game. You will be a useful test for my subjects."

"I'm sick of your games, Wesker," Chris growled. "Why won't you ever _just die_?"

That made his former Captain laugh again, which only aggravated Chris more. He'd seen the man get impaled by a tyrant and then shot with a rocket launcher while standing in molten lava. It was beyond absurd that he had somehow survived both of those events.

"How did you do it, Wesker? Tell me."

"You may have noticed the timer before you on that console. Are you sure you have the time to be asking questions?"

"I want to know what it's going to take," he spat. "What do I fucking have to do to be rid of you?"

"Uh, Boss," Bruno said, nervously, and pointed at the newly flashing message about an imminent gas leak and the warning to evacuate the area. 

Reluctantly, Chris shook himself, knowing he had to get his head in gear and stop letting the anger overwhelm him. There really wasn't any time. They had only thirty seconds left to find a way out according to the timer. 

"Follow me," he said to Bruno, and set off running. 


	3. Chapter 3

Everything was a jumble after the blast decimated most of the locker room and punched a hole in the floor, but somehow the man survived. He crawled out of the wreckage, covered in dust from head to toe, and limped his way out to escape the growing fire.

But the corridors ahead were a maze, with the bodies of scientists in white coats strewn about all over the place. With no shoes on, he was able to creep past them though, even the ones that were definitely... twitching.

At the end of one corridor, he came across the body of a man in a helmet and heavy uniform, slumped by a door. There was something he recognised as a weapon still in his hand. So carefully, the man prized it out of the stricken grip. The knowledge of it trickled into his mind, and he remembered that he needed to check for bullets.

It, the _gun_ , was empty. So he put it down and instead sought out something else that might be useful, quickly coming upon a combat knife in a holster on the man's belt. He took it gratefully, tucking it into the band of his sweatpants.

Some movement forward of him, in the darkness of another corridor, caught his attention. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could feel eyes on him. Not the ones through the cameras, but something in the area with him, watching him. A predator.

His hair stood on end as he peered into the darkness, pulling the knife back out and holding it aloft, listening hard.

_There._ Something was creeping towards him. It was stealthy, but fast, and some extra sense kicked in just as it broke into a run and pounced. He dodged it, leaping into a roll, and tried to put some distance between them.

It looked a lot like the frog creature thing that had been splattered across his tube when he woke up, except this one was more purple and veiny, and very much more alive.

There was another sound nearby and, with alarm, he suddenly realised that there were two of them, working together to close in on him from both directions. He was trapped.

Some vital instinct kicked in and allowed him to anticipate their moves well enough to dodge the most vicious swipes made as they leapt forward, attempting to pin him. He got in a good swipe at one, causing it to screech and leap back, but in the moment of that victory he immediately flinched away as the other one pounced at him and pinned him down, its claws slashing his chest deeply and painfully.

He kicked it off, now fighting against himself and his pain as well the leaping frog monsters. The man managed to flatten himself against the wall enough to slide by the one he had injured already and he made a run for it.

There was a door at the end of the corridor he was in. It was another wristband-operated one; he tell from the colour of its entry monitor. He made a run for it, going as fast as he possibly could to get to it, hearing the heavy clattering thud of clawed feet right at his heels as he did.

The man made it inside, but he was not quite fast enough to avoid one of them leaping in after him just before the door shut itself. Still, one was better than two and he turned to face it, knowing he would not be able to outrun it any further.

It circled slowly around, watching him with its beedy black eyes, clearly waiting for its moment to pounce. The man held the knife aloft, growing steady and focused at the threat, circling in time with it and waiting for his moment with the same predatory patience.

When it finally made its move, he dodged the swipe of its claws and stabbed the knife heavily into its neck. He threw himself forward as he did it, using his body weight to drag the knife down in a way that caused it to slice through its flesh, his hand firmly pressed to the hilt all the way.

It gurgled more than shrieked, did a woozy swaying dance, and then fell down. The man let out a breath of relief and pulled the knife free of the body. He wiped it off and then tucked the knife back into the waistband of his sweatpants, hands shaking.

Pain bloomed and he pressed a hand to the gashes along his chest, which had gone straight through his shirt, and which were now weeping red. They hurt badly but he thought they were probably too shallow to be life threatening at least.

But as he turned and continued forward, his vision suddenly blurred and his balance went. He ended up braced against the wall as he took a moment to blink it away. Suddenly, rather than the cold he had been feeling so much since waking up, he felt hot inside.

"Blue herb," a voice said, and he span with surprise. He hadn't realised there was someone else in the room.

It was a man in a long white coat on the far side of the area, which he realised belatedly was probably a laboratory of some kind, as it was filled with beds and monitors and strange machinery. The other man's back was turned to him, hunched over, apparently looking through a microscope without any level of interest or alarm over the fight that had just occurred behind him.

The man didn't know what was meant by his words, so he stayed silent, shivering, overwhelmed by a sense of dread when he spotted the pile of obviously-filled black body bags on a trolley over in the far corner.

The man in the white coat paused, straightening himself up, and then turned around to him. The moment they came face to face, his guest recoiled with shock.

The face... they had the same face. The same fair blonde hair too.

"There's a planter over by that machine there," the scientist clarified, nodding in the direction he meant. "That hunter was an enhanced specimen, it would appear. Take the blue herb to neutralise the poison."

The voice was the same one he had been hearing, he realised, which set him very much on edge. But there was nothing the man could do to escape the way he came, without facing the remaining hunter. His vision began to swim double, leaving him with no other option but to try.

While he did that, the man with the same face as him turned back to the microscope, checking it again, and then typed some notes onto his computer.

The bitter herb began to take effect as soon as the man consumed it. However, he knew that the poison had still worsened the effects of his injury, leaving him far weaker than he had been before he'd been slashed. Bone tired, the man silently slid onto a bench by the wall and wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm.

"Leave the knife to one side and lie down on the main operation table there." It was said very casually, as if there was no question that the command would be immediately obeyed.

Of course, he didn't move. The overwhelming sense of danger was so sharp, he could practically taste it now. He didn't know who this man was, or what was going on, so all he could trust was his instinct. Instead of complying, he looked around the room, seeking out another way out.

There was door on the far side, just past the trolley of bodies. He would have to move swiftly to get past the man in the white coat but he resolved to try, getting to his feet as quietly as he could.

Suddenly, he was swept up into the air, an incredibly strong hand at his throat. Somehow the man with his face had run at him in the blink of an eye and lifted him up like a child. His eyes were different though, he saw now; red and burning like fire. His face was passive but there was an overtone of mild annoyance.

"You must be the rejected one. No matter." In another flash, a movement at breakneck speed, they were suddenly next to the operation table. "Your genetic profile will still be useful to me," he informed the man, mildly, and slammed him down onto the table.

Quick as lightning, straps were secured around his hands and feet. The speed at which the other man moved seemed impossible and he was left gaping.

The scientist flashed out of his sight. "This must be confusing. You only need know that your existence, brief though it will be, serves a greater purpose." He was suddenly back at the console, but this time he paused and winced, and a hand went to his stomach.

Craning his neck to see, the man noticed that the white coat he was wearing was actually strangely oversized. There was also something moving under it, shapes pressing against the material, undulating back and forth. There was a flash of something black and disgusting, a writhing snake, peeking out at the neckline, and he calmly pushed it back inside, flinching a little as he did.

"Pain is so wearing," the man in the lab coat sighed. "But no matter. It also serves a grander purpose." He moved again in a flash and was suddenly standing neck to his victim, fussing about the machines around the table, turning the round lights above on so that they focused onto him, making him wince at the pain it caused to his sensitive eyes. "Survival of the fittest is a process. It's only right the spare parts are used productively, to benefit the strong." Red eyes flashed at him demonically.

Against the light, he caught sight of the glint of something he knew he didn't want. It was a _syringe_... _drug... bad... no..._

A strength he was barely aware could be summoned finally came to him, allowing him to snap one of his hands free of the restraint, just in time to knock the syringe from his assailant's hand. It made a cracking snap sound as it hit the floor.

The man in the white coat tilted his head and regarded him, not annoyed as such, but certainly more curious. "Your extended sleep appears to have strengthened you from the baseline observed. Good."

An iron hand gripped onto his flailing wrist and, without a moment of hesitation, broke it.

He cried out in pain, the white hot shock of it almost taking him out of his body and he curled it in against his chest. It was the hand he had used to wield the knife he found; with it injured, he knew he was far more defenceless. The cruelty of it brought white hot tears of frustration to his eyes.

"Your current rate of bone fusion for healing should provide a simple indication of progress." The bastard looked at his watch, absently, then looked back at him with a roll of his red eyes. "Oh don't fuss, number Five." The man with his face pursed his lips as if contemplating something, and then sighed. "You have absolutely no idea what is happening, do you? The importance of this work?"

He moved closer, and the man trapped like an insect pinned onto a board strained away from him.

"Strange to see myself like this," he continued, with a note of disgust. "So weak. Although I suppose I do still remember what it was like." He cleared his throat and straightened his lab coat, the unseen something beneath it still writhing and straining. "Allow me to explain while we wait for your bones to respond to the injury, though I'm not sure how capable you are of understanding just yet."

A chair was pulled up and the man seated himself. He proceeded to explain that there once was a man named Albert Wesker, who had been a true iteration of godhood on the earth. This man had had a sister named Alex, gifted in many ways as well, who had implanted him with a transmitting device to record all his thoughts and memories, in order to ensure continued survival in all scenarios. When Albert Wesker was destroyed by an ungrateful mankind, on the eve of his plan to save the world from itself, his mind was safely retrieved and kept by his sister.

Though Alex herself had thought it simpler to merely inhabit a human body, to select a child for use, this had not been satisfactory to Albert. He demanded far more. And so his sister had retrieved samples from the site of his destruction; bringing back enough of it to set to work growing fresh new clone host bodies. There had been five of them successfully grown in total in the past year, the man told him.

The first of them was a powerful fusion of flesh with the progenitor and uroborous virus strains, which had seemed relatively stable at first; the one deemed worthy of becoming the true Albert Wesker. However, that form had clearly begun to destabilise, this second clone surmised. That was why the four spares had been awoken and the mind and memories of the venerated Albert Wesker implanted in all of them, to ensure the best chance for his ultimate survival.

Well, except him: clone number Five. For reasons unknown, the files stated that he had rejected the best parts of the virally infused DNA offered and the mind patch that was attempted simply hadn't taken. He had been put back into storage, deemed a failure, left alone only as spare parts. But now the base was under attack, the man in the white coat guessed that clone One had decided to take the opportunity to discover which of them was strong enough to be the true Wesker vessel with a trial. That apparently included giving clone Five a chance as well; said as though it was a silly addition.

In a sense, that made them enemies.

The man, the _clone_ , said it with a wry smile that honestly chilled Five. He shared that he had every intention of being the one to survive, being the clone that was marked Two in the chain of viability and all, but the uroborous strain was already mutating within him and he too felt the icy fingers of death needling at him already.

His solution was not to be enemies. Instead, to join as one. To evacuate, in a sense. "Once I have confirmed that you are strong enough, I will overcome whatever has been preventing the mind transfer. Then," he said, with a smile, "I will become you."

It took nearly three hours for his wrist to stop throbbing angrily, the bone starting to knit together at last. The self-confessed clone, who was largely busy scanning his body with various machines and examining samples throughout, and who paused every now and then only to swallow down his obvious pain, declared it a satisfactory indication of progress.

Any hope Five had for a reprieve or a chance to escape dissipated immediately as his wrist was strapped back down and another syringe was procured; one that, it was promised, would help to stimulate a greater expansion of virus within his body and make him worthy.

This time, he could not escape it.


	4. Chapter 4

They caught enough of the gas toxin in their lungs to end up coughing, but it hadn't been difficult for Chris to find a way out of the trap laid. He had survived enough traps in Umbrella facilities to know where the escape hatches were likely to be.

There was no time to pause though. Once they had dropped down and out, he immediate pulled out his torch to check for enemies in the new area they were in, actively forcing himself to control the spasms of his lungs while he checked.

He was glad he did, immediately spotting the unwelcome sight of two hunters running at them. Chris pulled his gun and mowed them down with a spray of bullets each, without mercy. Then he growled with disgust and drew back to check on Bruno.

"What _were_ those things?" his subordinate spluttered.

"I've seen things like that before, a long time ago on Rockfort Island. Wesker calls them hunters. An experiment of his, from mixing his virus samples with reptile DNA." If nothing else, that really did confirm that Wesker was back, somehow. "Godamnit."

Bruno fought past his coughing and also turned on his torch to check around. He quickly found a lightswitch on the wall and flipped it on.

The lights came to life in stages, illuminating a large poolside area, as if they were at a luxury spa, not some godforsaken base in the middle of nowhere. The Spencer Estate really had gone all out with this one, Chris thought with a mix of bemusement and disgust. 

With the prowling hunters taken down, they appeared to be alone for now. Chris took a moment aside, rage swelling at his latest failure; another man killed on his watch. And it was Wesker who was responsible. It was _always_ fucking Wesker somehow.

His radio came to life with crackles and he tried to respond to it, but the signal was being crushed with interference. There was no way of knowing what the message was, whether more of his men were in trouble. "Fuck!" he spat, shaking it with frustration.

"Boss," Bruno yelled and beckoned him over to a sign on the wall. He shone his light at it. "A map of this base section." The brawny blonde pointed at their location and traced an exit line from there. "We might make a play for the elevator here. The E-code for it is the same as the one we passed by not too far from our entrypoint, so it should take us close."

Chris blinked, forgetting that Bruno, for all that he acted like a bit of a meathead sometimes, was actually pretty smart overall. "Good thinking. I'll take point. You keep your eyes peeled. If I know Wesker, those hunters were only the beginning of what's coming our way."

"Yes Captain. If you don't mind my asking-"

"Don't." He had no interest whatsoever in rehashing the long, complicated tragic history of why they were enemies. "It's not important right now. Just trust me when I say that Albert Wesker will do anything to prevent us from leaving this base alive. So we need to be smart and we need to be fast. I'm going to order the other teams to fall back and get out as well, soon as the signal clears."

"And what do we do about him?"

"As soon as we're out, I'm going to give the order to bionuke this fucking place." Chris could tell he must have looked a little manic when he said it, from Bruno's reaction. "There is nothing here worth saving and plenty worth killing. Now, let's move."

Bruno nodded and took up point. Together, they began forward on their path, out of the pool area, through to a reception area, through some charred doors and into a corridor that smelled bad and had taken some fire damage from the look of it. 

They kept on, moving quickly but carefully, until they hit a door that wouldn't open. The automatic voice demanded a wristband ID for entry. Chris held himself back from punching the screen, much as he wanted to. Instead, he led the way on some backtracking to find another way through into what map had noted was laboratories. 

He halted abruptly as they turned a corner and came up against two zombies in tattered lab coats, Chris expertly dodging the flailing arms to put several bullets into the head of one, while Bruno took care of the other one from just a step behind him. 

While they had been relatively easy to put down, Chris was very much on guard, knowing that the noise will have attracted anything else lurking in the area. He was also starting to become acutely aware of his ammo and the fact that he was burning through it too fast; one thing he had learned from his messed up career in taking on various bio-experiments was to conserve, conserve, conserve.

He quickened their pace, some innate sense telling him that the danger was increasing where they were. They found their way into a kitchen area, where a dripping tap against a metal sink caught his attention like a stray leaf in the eye of a storm.

The swing doors on the far side of the room were burst through, and Bruno only barely managed to duck the sheer edge of a spinning door by an inch or two. Standing in the doorway, with fire and smoke blazing behind him, was the tyrant with the stretched human skin over its face from before. 

Though Chris and Bruno leapt behind a counter, there was no doubt they had been seen.

"Revenge..." it growled, and the raspy nasal tone of its voice put Chris on edge for the odd note of familiarity, "is a dish... best served... hot."

Flaming pieces of wood flew through the air over them, landing heavily against the wall. Then a tentacle snapped outwards and grabbed bruno by the arm, hauling him up and back towards the creature. 

"No!" Chris yelled and broke cover, shooting his gun to try and sever the long black thing that had burst out from the tyrant's mutant arm. 

The tyrant wrapped another around Bruno's neck and held him aloft, like a prize to be won. It took an obvious delight in watching Chris' frustration. "Another... one of... your men... about to die... for you. How sad."

Bruno struggled, but as he did, he reached for the knife in his belt. Chris watched as he took a swipe at the tentacle around his arm, severing it and causing the tyrant to grunt in pain.

"Hey!" Chris yelled and threw a flash grenade. The monster was staggered by the flash, and he pulled out his gun and sprayed bullets into the pulsing orange core of it, walking forward and roaring as he did. 

It staggered the thing enough to drop Bruno to the ground and, as it stepped back a few paces, dazed, Chris grabbed his man and hauled him over to another exit point in the form of a brightly lit emergency EXIT. 

Unfortunately, they quickly discovered that it was not the salvation it had appeared to be. On opening the door, they each had to cling onto the sides to keep from falling down into the collapsed hole that lay between them and an escape, too deep to drop into.

The tyrant was already recovering and stomping their way, so Chris yelled at Bruno to make the jump across and gave him a hard push to help propel him over to the other side. The moment the man landed, scrabbling up broken and bent bits of wood and metal, Chris was yanked back into the air by yet more of those rapidly growing black tentacles which were wriggling out of the monster at breakneck speed. 

They went right around his legs and he was pulled upside down, his head and arms smashing into countertops as he was drawn over towards it, the strap of his automatic getting caught on a faucet and being pulled from his grip on the way.

The tyrant drew him right up close, the manic face slobbering and snarling at him, crazy red eyes popping. "This... is all... your fault," it said, sounding strangely pained for a second, "I was... to become... to become..."

"I don't care!" Chris yelled and pulled his backup pistol from his belt, aiming right into its eye and firing the gun at point blank range. 

It screamed and he was suddenly spinning in the air. He crash landed into a pile of pots and pans.

Chris was very aware of how much it hurt, how dazed he felt, but he wasn't about to succumb to any of it. He shoved his gun back into his belt and scrambled to get away just as the tentacles came for him, running for the bright red EXIT sign that swam before his eyes, hoping to get through it, and then jump across the gap and get away. 

For a second, he thought he was going to make it. Chris got past the threshold and managed to take the leap, Bruno yelling something from the other side and shooting his weapon above him, but then he was caught in mid air and all hope of making it was gone.

He wasn't sure quite what happened at that point; maybe Bruno's gunfire packed a punch, but instead of managing to pull him back into the kitchen again, the tyrant seemed to miss its step as it closed in and the two of them ended up falling in a tangle through the gap in the floor and into the darkness below. 

Something else immediately gave way beneath the weight of them and Chris was sliding down something fast, completely out of control, hardly able to see anything but suddenly aware of water rolling down with them.

Eventually they fell down into a rapidly moving lane of water, both of them carried off by the current. Chris managed to snag his hands around a pile of trash on one side to keep from being swept away, and he just about craned his neck enough to see the tyrant fighting the current hard, but being taken over another cliff edge and out of sight.

Chris put every last bit of his strength into hauling himself up along the trash and onto the side of what appeared, now that he could see, to be a large underground water pipe system of some kind, with a fast moving body of water rolling along the middle. He gasped and winced as pain flared in his thigh and he sighed on seeing a thin piece of metal sticking out of it. He didn't even feel it happen but it must have been in the first fall through that hole, he guessed. 

As if things weren't shitty enough, now he was injured. Chris lay back for a second on the eroded concrete waterside, taking a moment to brace himself, and then he yanked it out in one fast motion.

It hurt like a sonofabitch and he lay back, panting, for longer than he should have. Chris knew he needed to keep his wits about him, to listen out for danger and be prepared, but all the adrenalin that had kept him going until that moment died off. 

He managed to summon enough strength to pull his radio out and try to contact the team. It was no surprise to get only static back, given how deep underground he must be now. 

Somehow, he found himself drifting, half passing out but too stubborn to go fully under. His body throbbed from head to toe and he was soaking, freezing wet now, the taste of the disgusting sewer water refusing to leave his tongue. 

The next thing he knew, there was someone there with him, looking down over him. His vision swam, taking time to clear up enough for him to see them properly.

The moment that face came in view, he snapped back into action, grabbing his gun and shooting it on instinct. He already knew it wouldn't do much good with Albert Wesker but it was all he had left.

Chris was already bracing himself for more pain and a desperate fight for survival.

But, somehow, it never came. Instead, all he heard was a heavy thud and a faint sob.


	5. Chapter 5

Whatever the syringe had contained made him burn on the inside, like his blood was on fire, and Five thrashed against it for as long as the feeling lasted. Fortunately, it wasn't too long, and the burn soon diminished down into a distant heat, and then dissipated entirely.

This obviously angered the clone who was experimenting on him... something about his unwanted viral resistance. Words like, 'defective', and 'nonviable', were tossed around. He didn't care particularly, he just wanted to get off that table and get away somehow. 

When the clone's back was turned, Five pulled hard at the bindings around his wrists and ankles and was surprised when he could feel that they were starting to give. Perhaps he was a little stronger? The slashes on his chest were all but healed up so there was something happening to him, though he didn't know what it could be.

A machine nearby suddenly whirred to life and he paused his attempts to break free while the man in the white lab coat turned to him and pushed it nearer. It was cited above him and clamps drawn into place against his head, holding him still. Something was attached painfully and roughly to the side of his neck, spikes digging into his flesh hard and extending inside him.

More pain came, sharp and hot, his vision blurring white and then coming under assault from a focused red light, like a laser. His own screams were distant in his ears, like they were echoing from far away, the whirring of the thing on his neck louder somehow, and he fought with everything he had to get free of it. 

He was off the table and on the floor before he even realised it. Somehow, he had snapped the bonds. 

Five didn't pause to catch his breath. He fled for his life, not even chancing a glance back at the man who was shouting, _demanding_ , that he return. The door slammed shut in front of him before he managed to make it out of the room, however, beeping indignantly at him when he attempted to prize it open. 

He span, putting his back to the wall, knowing that he was trapped. 

"This is for our own good," the clone said, grimly, producing another syringe from his pocket.

Five slid along the wall as far as he could go, only stopping when he hit a work surface. But there was a knife, no, a _scalpel_ , within reach and he grabbed it, holding it out in threat while he tried to keep circling around and keep a space between them.

The clone's eyes were pure red and flashing dangerously, and he could see the writhing snake things under his white lab coat moving around even more than before. He had only seconds before the man would make his lunge for him, so instead he threw the scalpel as a distraction, and instead leapt forward to grab the syringe in his hand.

Somehow, he managed to get hold of his wrist, moving the hand around to stab it into the clone's neck, the contents pushing inside in a rapid spurt.

The man's eyes went wide with shock and a flailing arm sent Five flying through the air to land in a heap. 

"How dare you!" Two shouted, outraged. An unsteady step forward revealed that the syringe had done something to him, and he wobbled badly, slipped to one knee, and then made an awful grunting noise as the labcoat finally split and hundreds of writhing black tentacles escaped their bonds. In seconds, all of his clothes split, new tentacles shooting out of his skin, splitting it apart, blood splattering everywhere. 

The mass of tentacles grew and grew, expanding so fast that the man was quickly completely unrecognisable, his human bones and muscles cracking apart like a sprouting seed. The writhing expansion was going to keep going and going, Five realised, so he immediately made a run for the door again, trying desperately to pull it open to escape.

There was a warning siren and an automated female voice said, 'Warning. Biohazard detected. Laboratory will be purged in thirty seconds. All personal exit the area immediately.'

He fought the door with every bit of strength he had and, eventually, it snapped open for him. Five leapt out, just as the ball of tentacles came almost close enough to touch him, and he slammed it closed behind him as hard as he could. There was a reinforced window in the top part of it through which he could see the black expanse pressing against the glass, harder and harder.

Then the voice gave another warning, "Purge activated" and he had to cover his ears at the shrill pitched inhuman screaming as fire was pumped into the laboratory space and all of the tentacles began to explode in the heat.

When the noises died down, Five put his hand over his mouth so as not to retch at the smell. It was noxious. 

"A shame," a male voice, _the_ voice, came over the speaker, reminding him that he was still being watched.

In a fit of fright, he clawed at the device that had been attached to his neck. It was absolute agony but he persisted in ripping it away and he threw it away, hard. It sent him to his knees, his head against the cold floor, fighting the pain. He felt a hot gush of blood hit his shoulder and he knew it had been a bad idea, so he quickly ripped a large strip off the bottom of his shirt and held it against the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

The voice of the man he now knew to be called Albert Wesker chuckled from above somewhere. 

Something inside Five turned to steel at the sound. The unjustness of his situation, all the suffering that was not deserved, it made him truly angry. It was the first time he'd felt anything besides fear and it hit him hard.

He decided to try and find a place where the cameras would not be able to spot him. He pushed himself to his feet and padded, swaying but determined, along the corridor, his bare feet making no sound at all. 

Five paused as he saw a with some zombies visibly hanging around inside, but instead of fleeing as he might have before, he merely crept past them. 

Eventually, he hit another door that a wristband was needed for. It opened for him, but the moment it did, he froze. 

There were creatures on the other side, lazing on the floor. _Dogs,_ he realised. Zombie dogs in fact.

He was determined not to go back, but he knew he could not creep around them as well. So instead he threw the bloodied rag in one direction and ran, as fast as he could in the other direction to get through what looked like it might have been a mess hall once. 

The door at the other end was blocked with debris, but he spotted a hatch in the floor and knew that was his only way out. He ran to it, feeling a whizz of air go right past him as one of the barking dogs leapt at him and only just missed sinking its teeth into his neck. 

He threw himself down into the hatch more than anything, grabbing onto the ladder to stop a long fall, managing to save himself by clinging on tightly. Five pulled the hatch door closed above him and breathed a sigh of relief when the sound of the dogs barking dimmed almost to nothing. It would hold.

The ladder took him down into a junction of corridors, with the section in the middle looking like it had once been a storage room for old junk, an old typewriter balanced on top of some of the boxes. He decided to carry on down at the next hatch, and was surprised to find that the second ladder went quite a long way down.

He dropped down and grimaced as his bare feet landed in a puddle of water. The area was dark and dank smelling but, for the first time, he had a feeling that he wasn't being watched anymore. 

There was another one of those undead people on the floor; a man in overalls and a yellow hat. But he wasn't moving, so Five decided he was probably safe to creep past.

He followed the sound of water rushing nearby and came out onto the sidewalk area of a long tunnel. 

The sound of coughing put him immediately on edge and he shrank back to get out of sight. When nothing happened, he peeked around the corner and watched as a man, a soldier, hauled himself up out of the water and plopped himself onto the side heavily, gasping for air. Five watched as the man yanked a piece of metal from his leg, wincing along with him, and saw him slump backwards.

He froze with indecision, his instincts telling him to run and hide, but his hope of finding someone who might actually be able to help him prevented him from simply walking away. The man looked alive at least, with no sign of any mutation. He wondered if he might somehow ask for help.

The man pulled something from his belt, a radio- no, walkie talkie, and spoke into it. "This is Redfield, do you copy? I repeat, this is Redfield... All teams, evacuate this base immediately and begin preparations for Ground Zero Initiation. Do you copy?" The device just made a static sound in response and he saw the man sigh and give up, slumping back again.

Five pressed his head against the cold wall for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. When he saw that the man appeared to have passed out, he decided to at least get a closer look at least.

The face of the man was rugged but, compared to everything he'd seen so far, not frightening in the least. Five didn't quite know how to name the impression, except that he thought the man looked like someone who was kind. He was nice to look at, even, despite being wet through. The wound in his leg looked like it needed attention though and he wondered if there might be something he could do to help, to make peace and hopefully find out if this man might know the way out.

But then, the man's eyes flashed open and before he knew it, he felt the searing agony of a bullet slicing through him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chris struggled to his knees, keeping the gun aimed at Wesker, trying not to appear weak or shaky as he did so.

He immediately knew something was off. The bullet had connected, no dodging or games. Wesker had fallen backwards and had his hand pressed against the bleeding wound to his shoulder, and he was making a strangled pained sound of the kind Chris had honestly never heard from him before.

"Wesker!" he growled, and shuffled closer, pulling his flashlight out to line up the shot properly as well, making it clear he wasn't going to stand for any of his usual shit.

He was expecting the usual snarl of his name, a clever comment, a show of strength. He wasn't expecting Wesker to flinch back from him, scrambling into the corner and holding his hand out against the light to try and shield his eyes.

Chris honestly didn't know what to do. He blinked a few times in case he had somehow hallucinated his old arch nemesis' face, but no, it was him. _Him_. Anger hit him and he put aside his doubts to crawl in close and press the gun right up to his chin.

Everything he knew told him to pull the trigger quickly and do what he could to inflict some damage before Wesker had the chance to get one up on him.

Against the light, he suddenly realised, the eyes he was seeing were not what he expected at all. They were pinpricks of black against cold grey. Human eyes. They weren't the burning red cat eyes that Wesker had mutated. There was also none of the hatred or malice in them that he expected; only fear. Sincere fear.

Chris ignored the voice in his head which told him to get it done, _get it done before it's too late_ , and clicked off the flashlight. He took a mental step back and assessed the situation, trying to figure it out what he was seeing.

There was fresh blood smeared on the man's neck, the edges of some nasty gashes just about visible. There was nothing military about his clothes either; just plain grey shirt, shredded at the front and stained the colour of rust, dirty sweatpants and bare feet.

It was the bare feet that really challenged him in what he was seeing. There was no way, _no way_ , that Albert Wesker would ever run around in nothing but sweats, looking like he'd crawled out of a sewer. He'd worked with him for nearly two years before the mansion incident changed everything, and in all that time he'd never seen him with a hair out of place, even in training. Everyone else on the S.T.A.R.S team thought he knew the Captain best, because they'd spent so much time out of work hours on training runs together, and Chris guessed that was true. But even he had known nothing about him really, except that he was kind of prissy, had a very dry sense of humour, was always put together well and he liked to win.

"You're... you're not him, are you?" he said, sounding like he didn't believe it, but knowing somehow that it was the only explanation. There was just no way.

Wesker - _not Wesker?_ \- shook his head, blinking away tears of pain and wiping his face with his hand. He looked like he was coming apart in a way that just wasn't possible for his former Captain. Chris had seen Wesker fall in training, even getting himself grazed by a bullet once and twice popping an arm out of its socket after slipping from the ropes, the guy hardly so much as flinching. And that was before he even turned into the monster he ended up as, knee deep in molten lava and still yelling psychotic nonsense. Albert Wesker was tough as hell.

The guy before him, he looked like a sheep facing down a wolf. No matter what his face was, everything else about him was wrong somehow.

He still wasn't about to let his guard down though. Chris kept the gun aimed squarely at the man, not quite able to get past that face, that face that just never seemed to stop haunting him. "If you're not him, who are you?" he demanded.

The not-Wesker just stared back at him, his chest heaving with his breaths, his body twisting away from Chris like he was surviving on instinct alone, hardly even hearing him.

_Shit_ , Chris thought, and realised the guy was shaking. "Seriously, what the fuck is this,' he sighed under his breath, and though he knew he was probably going to regret it, he finally holstered his weapon. Instead, he went into his sidepack to find his medical supplies. 

As he approached with it held aloft, the man drew back, so Chris held his other hand up and moved closer slowly. "It's just a first aid spray. For your wounds," he said.

The man stared at him, uncertain, but let him apply the spray to the gashes on his neck. After a few seconds, he made a sighing sound as if the relief given was exquisite.

Then Chris shuffled a little closer to take a look at the gunshot wound he'd inflicted. "Bullet went through clean at least," he decided. "This won't fix it but it should help with the swelling and prevent infection." Chris applied the rest of the spray and cast the can aside, no longer looking at the face, just the injury, so he could treat it the way he would anyone in normal circumstances.

He could tell the bullet wound was still going to be bleeding, so, knowing he didn't have a full kit with him, he ripped a strip from his shirt and made it into a bandage to hook around under his arm.

The not-Wesker had finally calmed down and was now just staring at him with a strange mix of confusion and close assessment as he tended his wound. That was the first time he looked like the Wesker he knew; the one who was always silently assessing people and situations, usually from behind the dark veil of his sunglasses. Chris was one of the few people who knew what that cold gaze was without the artificial barrier, Wesker sometimes taking them off when it was just the two of them, usually when Chris had just beaten him at some training challenge, when the relentlessly competitive Captain was determined to pay it back.

It was so weird to be suddenly thinking about Wesker as he used to be, before his betrayal was known; all that extra training he had thought they did together for fun and camaraderie that turning out to be nothing more than part of his sick long game, to send in the very best of the best to the slaughter, and thus raise the price of his data to the shady organisation he'd betrayed Umbrella for. The man he'd known before he'd turned into something inhuman, every worst trait he'd ever seen magnified beyond comprehension, long slayed in his mind to make the hate and anger easier.

"Umbrella was experimenting with cloning," he sighed, absently, knowing it was the only possible explanation. "I guess Wesker made some backups."

To his surprise, the clone held up his hand and shook it forward, making it clear he was trying to give him a sign.

"Five?" Chris deciphered. "There are five of you?" _Christ_ , he thought. _We're absolutely not getting out of here alive._

The clone nodded, and then made a peace sign of two fingers, followed by a slicing motion across his neck.

"But two are dead?"

Another nod. Then the clone pointed at his thumb, and then pointed upwards, then cupping his ear. Then he pointed at his middle finger and then raised his hand upwards in a curved position, like he was indicating height, and then pulled the skin around his eyes back and pretended to growl.

At first he hadn't been sure what he was doing, but it all became clear to Chris suddenly. _'I was to become... to become...'_ _Of course_ , it all suddenly made sense. "Yeah, I saw that one. Killed one of my men. It was carried off down there," he pointed down the tunnel in the direction the water was running. "Probably won't stay down long."

He was about to say they needed to get out of here, but stopped himself. This was a clone, sure, and one that seemed like it hadn't even been finished off, but a clone of Albert fucking Wesker. He would have to be clinically insane to take him with him.

"Something's interfering with the comms. I need to get to higher ground so I can get through to my units." Chris tried to get to his feet and, in doing so, sharply remembered his leg injury. He hissed and stumbled, but as he saw the clone move to try and help, he drew back from him. "It's fine. I've had worse."

The clone picked up the first aid can and offered it, but Chris shook his head. He knew it was empty. He slightly regretted now that he'd forgotten about his leg and used up his spray. Chris still had a green herb stashed, he knew, but thought it would be best to keep it for emergencies. Better to keep going and ignore it.

There was a weird moment, the two of them just looking at one another with uncertainty. "Uh, look," Chris began, "I need to get going. You should... find a way out too." He hoped he had been clear that he meant that the guy should absolutely not follow him, but was also not too surprised when he heard the light footsteps behind him as he walked down the raised side of the sewer tunnel, seeking a door out.

There was a metal bridge over the water at the end of the walkway, just before the cliff-edge where it drained downwards in a waterfall, but before going across it to find a path out Chris turned to the Wesker clone, knowing he had to say something. "I need you to understand that you can't come with me," he said, trying to be firm, but feeling like shit for it. "I mean... whether you're him or not, the whole world knows your face, what you, _he_ , did." There was only a slight reaction of confusion from the clone. "You really have no clue have you? Albert Wesker tried to release a deadly virus on the whole world. That's why I had to kill him."

At last, he saw some reaction. The clone drew back a little at his words, finally looking a bit more cautious.

"That's right. I killed Albert Wesker because he was an evil son of the bitch. Now I don't know what exactly you are but I know I can’t trust you. I sure as hell can't guarantee your safety; in fact, I'd say it's pretty dangerous for you to be around me. My men won't hesitate to put you down the moment they see you." Possibly an exaggeration but he had to make the point.

But those sorry eyes were killing him, absolutely killing him.

"Goddamnit," he growled, and pulled his knife.

The clone looked spooked and skitted back a few paces.

"No, just," Chris flipped it and caught it by the end, offering it to him by the handle, "Take this."

He turned and limped his way over the bridge purposefully, only pausing to look back when he heard something clunk heavily on the metal.

It was several tentacles landing on the side of the bridge and wrapping themselves around it. The water below exploded with the force of something emerging from it, the sound echoing all down the tunnel. Chris wasn't surprised to see the tyrant from before launching itself up onto the bridge with an angry roar.

It landed heavily on its feet, the sheer force of it snapping one corner of the metal structure and causing the bridge to buckle on one side. Chris was far enough to the side to stay on his feet but he saw the Wesker clone nearly lose his footing completely, having to cling onto the side for dear life.

"Chrissss," the tyrant hissed, and he finally saw a hint of Wesker in its messed up face.

"Wesker," he growled back and saw it snort with satisfaction. "You've seen better days."

That annoyed the creature, as he hoped it would. He kept his eyes on it but did his best to signal the other clone to get the hell out of the picture with a nod of his head.

"I've never... felt better," it said, the voice corrupted beyond recognition through its misshapen mouth, and it cracked its neck with a gross satisfaction.

Somehow, Chris found that hard to believe. He would have said so, but the mass of tentacles on its arm were on the move again, snapping in his direction. There was limited space to move where he was, so he leapt in the direction of the side platform beyond the bridge.

There were some old gas canisters dumped at the side and, before he managed to regain his stance, they were being thrown at him, sending him sprawling in all directions to dodge them. He could hear the tyrant laughing in a way that sounded a lot more like the Wesker he knew than ever.

He managed to leap over a dust box and take cover to avoid the last missile. "Doesn't this routine ever get old?" he yelled in the pause that followed. "You're not some kind of superhuman, you're a fake! Nothing but a bad copy!"

Chris could hear it stomping closer. "Don't you tire... of being so... righteous..." the tyrant hissed.

A tentacle snapped around his neck before he could move fast enough to avoid it and Chris was hauled upwards, his air supply completely cut off by its grip. He reached for his gun, but another one of the black tendrils grabbed his wrist and stopped him. He was slowly hoisted up close to the monstrous thing, struggling against it all the way.

"Time... to die... Chrisss."

Little black spots appeared at the edges of his vision and Chris actually thought it was it, he was finally done for.

Suddenly, the thing screamed and dropped him. He landed on his side, spluttering for air, and saw that the other clone was down there with him. The knife he'd just given him had been put to use and he'd severed right through the tendon at the back of the tyrant clone's heel on one side. The monster went down to one knee, agonised by the unexpected injury to a part of it which had still looked pretty human and which had clearly been a weak point. That gave the more normal clone a chance to leap on its back, plunging that knife down into its chest repeatedly so fast it almost became a blur.

With a roar, it threw him off, sending him flying back over the side of the bridge, which finally snapped completely on one side and bent downwards into the water, the clone rolling down and disappearing beneath the current.

The tyrant was completely staggered, unable to properly get back onto its feet with the tendon sliced through, Chris could tell. It was his best chance. Instead of trying to fell it with bullets, knowing the damage just wouldn't be good enough, he instead grabbed one of the heavy gas canisters and rolled it along the ground towards the beast, before taking cover behind the dust box again and making a shot.

The explosion happened like fire in a wind tunnel, seeming huge and white hot, but brief. Chris covered his eyes as it happened, then looked over his cover carefully to see if it had done anything. He saw the smoky outline of the tyrant fall backwards, going over into the waterfall again, disappearing downwards the way it had climbed up before.

Chris collapsed in on himself a little with relief. He didn't think that had killed it, but it might just have bought him enough time to get the hell out of there.

He cast a glance over to busted bridge, pretty sure the other clone had gone over too. Chris was surprised to see a pale hand still clinging onto the grating, white knuckled with the effort, fighting against the current to stay there, the owner completely submerged in the water. Without thinking, he hurried over and fell to his belly, bracing his feet against the metal railings to stop himself from sliding down too far as he reached down. He managed to snag the bony wrist and put all his abdomen muscles to work pulling himself backwards, dragging the clone up and out of the water as he did.

Since the other arm was connected to the shoulder with the bullet wound in it, he grabbed onto the collar of the clone's shirt instead as soon as he was close enough and gave a mighty heave to get him up far enough not to slip back down and into the water.

The clone was coughing out water, but beyond that sign of life, looked a little out of it. Chris fought against the pain of the stab wound to his leg to flex himself upright on his knees, using the leverage to pull the man up with him in a final effort to get him to a part of the bridge that was still level.

He soon lost balance, however, and fell backwards, but that at least completed the task. The Wesker clone landed on top of him, head to his chest, gasping for air. Chris let his head fall back as he dragged in his own heavy breaths, exhausted.

Slowly the clone pushed up onto his hand, straddling him, staring down at him, his blonde hair gathered into spikes and dripping down onto him. A truly bizarre flush of something, like an odd excitement or anticipation, made Chris' chest tighten, and he stared up at him, just blinking. "Thanks," he found himself saying, "for trying to help."

A smile came over that face he knew so well, had hated for so long, shy but pleased, and filled with a note of gratitude. Chris almost caught himself smiling back, but didn't, suddenly uncomfortable at the way the overhead light caught his lips, made him look kind of... And suddenly, he had a weird flash of a memory, of the times they had hit the showers at the training ground at the same time, casually looking over at Wesker under the hot spray, kind of fascinated by the tall, lithe, nearly hairless body that was so unlike his own, which was more bulky and broad, noticing for the first time an oddly sort of, well, feminine shape to the guy's lean curves that had really stuck with him. No, not _feminine_ , but... something.

The clone mercifully rolled over and lay down next to Chris, still coughing, bringing him back to the present.

"That thing won't stay down for long," he said, finally, trying to convince himself to get a move on more than anything. Chris forced himself to his feet, determined not to waste time.

He looked down at the wet-through clone, full of conflicted feelings over him. All logic told him he should leave him there, pretend he didn't exist, get out and complete the job of destroying the final known Umbrella hellhole.

Instead, he helped him up.

"Stay behind me," he grunted, a bit annoyed still at the situation, but simply no longer able to leave the man behind in good conscience. Not after he'd leapt in and, in all probability, kind of saved his life back there. "We're getting out of here."

The clone looked a little surprised, but nodded and straightened up, making a show of preparing himself to go.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chris. Chris Redfield. Chrisss. Chris_. The name kept coming into Five's mind, like a covenant or a prayer, meaningful in ways he couldn't quite understand or articulate. He didn't know if it was that he recognised it, or if he just liked the sound of it. 

He liked the soldier who owned the name at least. This man had no reason to help him, not really. In fact, it sounded like he had a whole lot of reasons not to. Five didn't know what to think about everything he'd heard so far about Albert Wesker, except that he felt angry about the situation he was in. He hadn't asked to be made, or to be left running for his life with no idea of what was going on, with no end to twisted creatures apparently intent on either infecting him with something, like the frog creature or the clone in the lab, or killing him, like that tyrant horror that had nearly got him twice now.

His guide had a nose for finding items of use, and a few floors upwards, he located an side room where there was some ammo lying around for his pistol, and a shotgun inside a locked cabinet. When he couldn't get that open, the soldier turning away to look for a "crowbar or a wrench or something", Five was secretly quite smug when he tried the cabinet door and wrenched it open with relative ease.

Chris had given him a bit of a funny look though, before reaching in to get the shotgun and the ammo he'd wanted. He didn't understand why.

Next, Chris checked the lockers and found some military uniforms. He pulled out some items, including a pair of boots that he handed over to Five, pronouncing them "the right size", though there was no further explanation as to how he knew what the right size was. He also gave him a new t-shirt and a camouflage pants and jacket set. 

Chris turned around, giving him some privacy as Five stripped off the ruined shirt and sweatpants he'd been wearing. He put on the replacement gear and, of course, the fleece-lined military boots given over were a perfect fit. Having them on proved to be an amazing relief as well. He hadn't realised how cold he had been before.

He found some sunglasses at the bottom of the locker, neatly placed on top of a square of folded shirts, and he reached for them. Five didn't exactly know why he did it, and was surprised when Redfield knocked them right out of his hands and gave him a stern glare.

"Let's go," the soldier said, coldly. "We'll be spotted as soon as we make a play for the elevator, so we need to be fast. Stay close. I won't wait for you if you don't keep up."

Five nodded, steeling himself for the run ahead, adrenalin spiking. Even though he was relieved not to be alone anymore, the fear was still there, lingering in his veins. His wrist ached from where it had been broken before, and his shoulder was still raw where the bullet tore through it. At least his neck wounds felt a lot better - that was something at least.

Chris checked his shotgun was properly loaded in one more time and then took off, and Five launched after him, the pair of them running blindly into the network of corridors, the lights flickering, the air sharp and acidic from damaged electrical wiring. The soldier seemed to have a rough idea, at least, of where to go, though stopped occasionally to try and figure ways around the security cameras that were so clearly tracking them.

There were zombies around, but Chris made light work of them with the shotgun, clearing the way with hardly a step missed. It was actually quite impressive to watch; especially when one with glowing eyes suddenly made a fast lunge, and he kicked it back smoothly and blasted away, its head exploding like a melon.

Eventually, with a few wrong turns backtracked, Chris picked up the pace towards an elevator. "This is the one," he said as they came up to it, both breathing a little heavier.

Something tweaked Five's senses as they approached the doors, however; a smell that he recognised somehow. Chris punched the button and the doors began to open, but Five grabbed him and pulled him back, just in time to avoid a sweeping tentacle bursting out. They fell back and hit the metal deck quite hard as jets of smoke burst out from the elevator as the doors parted.

There was snide chuckle of a laugh over the loudspeakers. "Oh come now, Chris. Did you think we'd make it that easy for you?"

Five gritted his teeth, rage filling him. He leapt up and practically lifted Chris onto his feet, putting himself between the soldier and the mutated clone creature that was inching out of the elevator towards them.

It looked a lot worse for wear following its tumble over the waterfall, a cheekbone shattered, new tentacles growing out of ruptured wounds on the same side, the bulk moving forward with a heavy limp due to the still-injured ankle he was walking on.

Chris unloaded a few rounds of his shotgun into the gaping heart thing pulsating in its chest, but it barely seemed to flinch, and then the gun was wrenched away by a creeping tentacle. "Chrissss," it growled, with the same voice as the man on the loudspeaker, only corrupted by its mangled form.

What happened next happened fast. A tentacle lifted the soldier in the air by his neck, but Five escaped a similar attempt to grab him, instead putting everything into leaping around the creature, bouncing himself off the side of the wall to get high enough to make it over. Then he turned and hooked his hands around the clone's massive pulsating neck, holding himself there long enough to pull his knife and stab it into the monster's jugular repeatedly.

It took five or six blows for the monster to gurgle and thrash, and then for it to fall down, dropping Chris as it did, the black tentacles growing limp.

He ran over to pull a gasping Chris onto his feet. There was no time to let him recover, Five knew they had only one chance to get past the tyrant and escape now. He practically threw Chris inside the elevator, the soldier hitting the metal wall of it with a bang, and then he tried to hop in after him, only to realise that something had snagged onto his foot.

The tyrant was awake yet again and one of its tentacles had wrapped around his ankle. Five tried to pull forward and shake free, to get inside the elevator, heaving hard against it. But another tentacle wrapped around the rest of his leg and he knew he wasn't going to make it.

It was a split second decision, but he knew it was the right one. Five wrenched just far forward enough to hit the topmost elevator button with the tip of his knife, and then let the tyrant drag him out like a spring.

He saw Chris' shocked expression just briefly as the doors closed, and then he was being choked. It wasn't what he'd wanted, to force Chris to go on without him, but there had been no way they'd both have gotten out with that thing still on the rampage. An odd sort of calm contentment came over him with the choice made.

"Such a disappointment, number Five," the snide voice on the loudspeakers said, like it was over and he was done.

That pissed him off, and he decided that the last thing he was right now was done. The tentacle tightened around his throat, so he began hacking at it with the knife. The clone roared angrily and more tentacles came for him, one wrenching his hand aside and another knocking the knife away.

"Inferior," it spat at him as it lifted him into the air and pulled him close enough to smell its putrid breath, the drawn lips and gums truly an awful sight up close, "Defective and weak... you are _not_... worthy..."

Black spots began to appear at the sides of his vision and he knew he wasn't going to be hold out much longer against it. With everything last bit of strength, he tried to get his fingers around the tentacle to wrench it away, but it still wasn't enough. 

It's sneering, booming laugh was the last thing he heard before the squeeze around his throat became too much and his neck finally snapped.


	8. Chapter 8

Chris kept trying his walkie as the elevator made its slow ascent. Despite this, he still started with surprise when it finally began to crackle a response. "This is Redfield. Does anyone read me?"

Gradually the tangle of noise became a voice. "Sir, this is Ashywin from Delta Team. I read you... lost Korachuck and Janus... retreated to the main exit."

"Have you heard from Bravo or Delta?"

"Negative, sir. But we got tore apart down there... fuckin' zombies everywhere..."

"I'm returning to the surface," he said, with false calm. "Call in the chopper.

"Copy that."

Chris pressed his forehead against the cold elevator wall, the anger rising within him, and he lashed out at it almost without even realising, punching and kicking dents in hard. He was both disappointed and frustrated that all of the training, all of the hard work, had still not prevented yet another round of deaths on his watch. "Fuck," he shouted and tried to push the anger back down.

"Oh Chris," came the familiar voice over a loudspeaker in the elevator and Chris stood to attention, "Here we go again. A gifted soldier perhaps, but you never were a leader. Admit it, _I_ made you great."

Much as he wanted to curse Wesker out, he knew it would not help at all. Instead he stood still and rigid, focused on the doors and the task ahead.

"What, no welcome back?"

"You're not real," he said, as calmly as he could. "Just a bad imitation of a dead guy. You should have stayed dead, Wesker. This time I'll finish the job."

"So now you plan to head off and drop a bionuke from the air? So predictable, Chris."

Chris gritted his teeth, determined not to rise to it.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came. Maybe you, maybe your lovely sister. Nothing personal, but I needed collateral. I have three active anti-aircraft silos armed and standing ready; any attempt to land will result in them being blasted into dust."

"You really think I care about my life? I'll give the order to nuke you into next year right now, you son of a bitch."

"Your men too? Some of them are holding up pretty well against my hunters. They may even make it. Are you really going to just let them die too, like all the rest?"

The snide triumph in Wesker's tone made Chris want to punch the elevator wall again.

"Go sit by the door like a good dog, Chris. I'll let your men go, for old time's sake. But no one is getting off this island until I say so."

"Fuck off Wesker."

The responding laugh crackled away just as the elevator made it to ground level, and Chris practically threw himself out through the doors, his stomach churning.

He leapt forward and broke into a run, going completely on autopilot as his mind went into overdrive over the situation. There was no way he was letting Wesker go. Not again.

Chris knew what he had to do.

#

There was a fight going on. The heavy thuds of footfall on metal and wet soft punches dragged him slowly back from the darkness. Then there was a tremendous roaring din followed by a series of horrible bone snaps and crunches.

The next thing he knew, someone was standing over him, staring down. A blonde man in a tattered black coat, his strange eyes glowing red and yellow, streaks of blood across his face. He looked just like him again, except this one was haggard and pale, seeks sunken and eyes ringed with bruises.

"Promising regenerative properties," the other clone said, pressing a hand along his neck, and Five knew immediately that his was the voice he had been hearing everywhere right from the start. "Not entirely worthless."

Five discovered that he couldn't move his hands or feet because they were being pinned down under thick metal loops. He was on some sort of Gurney, surrounded by machines on carts. He turned his head to see more and discovered that the two of them were in a huge circular chamber, like a laboratory but much bigger than the last one he'd seen, with lines and lines of misty tubes along the walls. On the far side a large chair was set, like a throne of sorts with computer consoles on either side, and at the foot of the platform it was on lay a huge mangled corpse.

He realised with no small sense of surprise that it was, or at least _had_ been, the tyrant that had been another one of the clones. It looked like it had been put through a crusher, its sad tentacles a tangled clump around it, its monstrous face with the skin stretched too tight slack and vacant. He stared at it with horror, wondering what could possibly have taken down the creature that had nearly ended both himself and Chris repeatedly.

"Sadly, the mutations in that one were too uncontrolled to be viable. The body would have ended up, much like this one, unstable. Useless to me. A pity."

Five looked at the man standing over him, breathless but determined not to show his fear.

"That just leaves _you_."

The way he punctuated the word 'you' sent a shiver down Five's spine that he struggled to hide.

"Lucky number five. Hmm. If only there was more time to compile data to chart your potential," Wesker sighed. He thrust his hand out and dark tentacles erupted from the palm, not unlike the ones he had seen with the clone in the lab, but far more controlled. These ones pulled a trolley of medical implements closer and the others pulled in the huge machines on carts, with the last swinging a big set of surgical lights into position. Then the tentacles disappeared back into the clone's hand with a snap that made the him visibly wince, and his hand tremored visibly with the effort. Five noticed that there was a hint of something pulsing and bulging beneath his shirt and when it moved, it made him pause and concentrate, apparently needing to push down some associated pain, much like the second clone before. "This host is destablising too quickly," he growled. "Might as well get on with it."

Something cold and hard clamped around Five's head. He lurched with alarm, and the thick metal cuff over his left wrist was pulled clean off the Gurney, metal screws flying everywhere. He tried to punch at the other clone with his freed hand, to fight him off, but a swiftly delivered needle in his neck robbed him of his strength.

"Now now," Wesker said, and stuck the same whirring thing into his neck that the clone in the lab had attached to him. "This will hurt less if you relax."

It was a lie. There was no escape from the electricity buzzing through his brain, the din like a hurricane, the pressure that made him feel like his head would surely pop like a melon at any moment. He screamed and clawed at the metal clamps with his free hand. "Nn-nn-nooo pleeeease..." he wailed, primal words stuttering to life in him.

When he could blink the tears away enough to see, he could tell that Wesker was unmoved, barely even looking at him. He was manipulating dials and scanning the data on the monitors with a pointed concentration. Images of a brain were flashed up, colours spiking all across it, data streaming along the sides of the monitor. As the graphic image turned, Five saw that there was a square of something metal implanted at the front of the brain... of _his_ brain.

"Hmm, interesting adaptations," Wesker commented, and then it all stopped as the dials were turned down. "Your genome is neutralising the vital pathogens. We'll need to fix that later. Some re-tuning of the frequencies should override the block on the mind transfer at least."

Dials were turned and then Five's mind seemed to collapse in on itself in a rolling wave of colours and sound, his brain too overloaded to make any sense of it all. He was vaguely aware of his body lurching up and down against the current and whatever his one free hand was gripping onto was slowly bending.

Thousands of snapshot images poured in from every direction, a jumble of sights and sounds from places he had never been, too disassembled and painful to make any sort of sense.

And in a sudden bright explosion, it all ended with line of pinging crunch noises, and there was smoke and sparks everywhere. Five let his head fall to the side and tried to process what was happening, though his whole body was numb and slack and everything was in a haze of red.

He realised that his hands and feet were free, and he swung his legs to one side to sit up. When he wiped at his eyes, his hand came away with blood. He coughed and spat the burnt metal taste out.

Five realised that the machines around him were filled with a line of bullet holes. They were almost all busted, with just one of them still flashing with rolling electrical charges. And when he pulled at the thing on his neck, it came off easily, falling from his fingers to the floor harmlessly.

It took a moment for him regain his sense enough to interpret what he was seeing ahead. Where the smoke was clearing, he realised he could see a man in green - Chris! - on the ground, crawling backwards away from the advancing clone in the black coat.

Something was being said, but he couldn't understand it against the roaring, rushing blood in his ears. In a lightning flicker, he saw Wesker dodge and kick aside a desperate throw of a flash grenade from Chris, which popped without having any effect at all. Then Wesker continued advancing on him.

Five's eyes widened with the realisation that Chris was not going to be able to fight this one - he was too powerful. The tentacles came out of the clone's hands and lifted Chris into the air by his neck, and much as the soldier was trying to fight it, there was really nothing he could do against that kind of strength. He valiantly kicked forward, but two more tentacles grabbed his foot and turned it in an unnatural direction, the audible crack of bone making him cry out.

That sound awoke something angry inside Five, and he was suddenly on his feet, running, trying to get to him. Some instinct told him to leap, so he did, and it took him far further than he knew he could go, allowing him to land on the clone's back too quickly for any reaction to be given.

Lightning fast, he grabbed him around the throat with one hand to prevent him from throwing him off, and then he punched as hard as he could into his back with his other hand, hoping to wind him and get him to drop Chris.

An unexpected pain exploded in his hand as the bones and sinew snapped. He realised with a start that this was because it had gone right the way through the clone's chest, smashing through his ribcage, and what was hanging from his mangled and bloody hand on the other side was a oversized heart, still pulsing.

All three of them froze. Then Chris was hurled across the room and the tentacles quickly retracted into the clone's body. Five put his last bit of strength into pulling the heart back through the body again and out of his back before he could be stopped, wrenching it hard enough for the muscles and veins holding it in place to snap, allowing him to yank it free.

Both of them collapsed forward in a heap and hit the deck hard. Five rolled aside and Wesker crawled over him, blood pouring from his mouth, those inhuman red and yellow eyes flashing like the devil. A hand pressed aggressively down on Five's neck, choking him against the floor, but and then another was placed onto the side of his face.

Their eyes locked together and the hand on his cheek patted him strangely and the look of anger melted into a defiant smirk.

"I... win..." the clone gurgled, and then slumped over him.

Five wriggled to get free of the heavy body. His stomach churned and he start to dry heave as he crawled away, but nothing but a bit of leftover blue herb came out. His brain was vibrating and he couldn't stand it. Everything hurt and he couldn't think clearly.

He started at the close sound of gunfire, and turned to see Chris had dragged himself over and was pushing himself up with one hand to shoot Mag rounds into the original Wesker clone's forehead. The feral look in his eyes as he pulled the trigger over and over made him look insane.

"Fucking stay dead," he shouted in the silence that followed, breathing heavily.

Five guessed that it was a long time coming, and though it possibly should have bothered him, it didn't. Chris was due his justice.

But then the silver steel of the Magnum slowly tilted in Chris' hand the barrel was on him.

"Are you... are you him now?" Chris asked, coldly. When he gave no response, he asked again with a wild yell, "You were in that machine. Are you _him_?"

Five shook his head, but didn't see how he would be able to convince Chris. Not after everything. "I d-don't... know," he replied, his words still coming out with difficulty, but sounding as honest as he could make them.

He closed his eyes and braced, waiting for the shot that could finally put him out of his misery.

There was a few seconds of delay, and he almost thought it wasn't going to happen after all. That maybe, just maybe, he was going to live.

Then the trigger clicked and the shot rang out like a thunderclap.


	9. Chapter 9

Chris stared at the mangled tyrant clone body, his heart beating wildly.

If he hadn't have noticed movement in his peripheral vision, and had his gun not been already drawn, he was certain that bastard's creeping tentacle would have grabbed him by the throat and probably killed him.

Now there was a single dark and smoking hole in its forehead where his last Magnum bullet had met its target. But Chris was jittery, still not quite believing the thing was dead. It seemed to be the one thing that all Weskers had in common; they just wouldn't fucking die.

He turned his head and saw the last remaining clone staring at the monster as well, looking just as shocked.

Chris looked him over, hard, trying to find something telling, yet hoping not to find it at the same time.

In the end, it was his eyes, pale blue and very human, that made him stand down.

"Wesker said he had three anti-aircraft silos guarding the landing zone," he said, switching to the real task at hand. "I need to shut them down."

The clone blinked a few times, as if processing belatedly, and then nodded. He got to his feet, shakily, and went across to help Chris stand up as well. Chris couldn't help but gasp with pain, the snapped bone of his ankle jarring at the effort, and the clone also groaned as his broken hand was jostled. But between them they found enough equilibrium to make it upright.

"Help me over to the chair," Chris said, and they stumbled across to it together, slipping ever so slightly in the pool of blood and bile leaking from the tyrant.

Chris landed in the chair quite hard but didn't pause for a second, determined to get those silos shut down. He was immediately relieved to see that the system on the monitors looked pretty familiar; the same operating system used by Umbrella on all of their bases.

He'd had enough experience to find his way through the file system pretty quickly to silo control. But as soon as he tried to access it, it flashed up a beeping warning and a female computer voice requested an 'Access Code'.

Chris sighed. "Goddamn it." He hadn't seen anything on his way through the base that might indicate what the code was. The number of characters to enter was six, so he tried punching in W-E-S-K-E-R and sighed with frustration when it flashed up red in response.

He noticed that the clone was frowning and staring at the screen, thoughtfully.

"Do you know what the code is?"

The question was met with a wince. "Flashes... something..." He carefully leaned around the monitor and, with his good hand, entered a string of letters and numbers. His attempt was ended with a tentative hit of the 'Enter' key.

The response was, once again, 'Access Denied'.

"Can't quite- wait-" he grunted, and then tried again, changing the final digit from a B into an 8. 

This time the code worked. It put Chris just a bit more on edge, but he put that concern to one side for now. Getting his men out of there was more important. He could deal with this problem later.

He punched in an override command and watched the deactivation confirmations for the three silos come in one by one.

They had precisely two seconds of breathing space before the lights suddenly went out and the red emergency lights flashed on instead.

"Now what?" Chris snapped.

Both of the monitors suddenly frizzed and a pre-recorded video of Albert Wesker appeared. "Just in case this is you Chris, and you've found a way to hack into the system, here's a small parting gift from me. I programmed the anti-aircraft silo deactivation to trigger the final self destruct sequence for the base." He smiled and leaned in. "Did you really think I'd let you just leave? A death for a death, Chris. I suppose this makes us even. Goodbye."

'Self destruct system activated,' the computer voice announced over the loudspeakers. 'All personnel, evacuate immediately.'

Chris punched the screen, freezing the distorted image of Wesker in place at the centre of a large web of cracked glass.

'Ten minutes remaining," the computer announced, ominously.

"Fuck." Chris pulled his walkie talkie from his belt. "This is Redfield, do you copy?"

The empty crackle seemed to go on for an eternity. Then, finally, he heard Ashwyn's voice come through. "We hear you, Sir. Comms seem to be coming back up. Bruno is pretty badly messed up but he just made it out with Bravo team. Oscar teams have also reported in."

"Casualties?" he barked.

"Three casualties but no further fatalities. All doors have released so they're on their way up and out now. The base is-"

"I know. Tell the men to light a fire up their asses. Radio the chopper to circle round and pick up everyone up immediately. The moment it lands, you go. Do not, I repeat DO NOT wait for me. That is an order. Do you copy?"

"Yes Captain," Ashwyn replied, hesitantly. "Sir- how are you going to-"

"I can take care of myself. Redfield out." Chris held the walkie talkie up in the air for a longer moment than necessary, his mind seizing up for a second, and then he threw it across the room. He sat back in the chair and let the pain wash over him.

There was no possible way to get out from seventeen floors below surface level in only ten minutes. Even if his ankle wasn't fucked, it would still take too long. His men would be in danger if they tried to wait as well. Strangely, the realisation that there was no way out brought a huge dose of relief, and he pulled his wallet free of his tac belt pouch and looked at the photo he had in there of him and his sister Claire, young and carefree, together in happier times.

The final remaining Wesker clone was watching him, so he held it up to show him. "My sister. She's gonna be so pissed at me for this," he said, and laughed, though it jarred his bruised ribs.

"No," the clone said, after a long silence. "C-can't... give up."

'Nine minutes remaining,' the computer announcer helpfully supplied.

"I can't walk," he sighed. "There's no ti-"

His breath was forced from his lungs as the clone grabbed him by the arm and spun him around faster than any normal human could move, lifting him up onto his back like he was some kind of child. Then he took off running, going so fast that Chris had no other option but to quickly shove his wallet back where it came from and cling on tight against him.

He was carried around behind a line of misty specimen tubes mounted near to the wall, into a small space at the back of laboratory that he hadn't spotted before. A concealed door released itself on their approach and lowered downwards to create a ramp into a dark red-lit corridor beyond.

The clone ran and ran, not hesitating, and Chris could tell that he had a plan. It was bizarre, and more than a bit demeaning to be carried like this - he couldn't imagine what his men, would say if they could see him now - but if there was a way to get out and survive, he wasn't going to argue.

It quickly became clear that they were going downwards instead of up, which concerned him somewhat until he realised he could taste fresh air coming in from somewhere. When they hit another sewer tunnel, he realised that they were running along the side in the same direction as the current. And this water was deeper and looked a lot more fresh. That could mean only one thing.

The loudspeaker announcements were distant down there, but still audible. As soon as the computer voice announced 'two minutes remaining', the clone came to a stop. He seemed like he was trying to remember something, then he abruptly stepped off the side and onto a yellow ladder. He carried Chris downwards with careful steps and until they were arriving onto a hidden platform.

Chris almost laughed with relief when he spotted the very shiny speedboat moored right there, just waiting for them.

The clone quickly clambered aboard and carefully sat Chris down in the back seat before unchaining the boat from the side.

"Nothing like making an exit with style," Chris said, euphoric with the realisation that they might just get out alive after all.

"His- esc-escape plan." The clone wasted no time in getting himself into the driver's seat. He fastened himself in and the engine came to life easily when he pressed his thumb to a panel next to the steering wheel. Before moving them out, he looked back and frowned at Chris. "Seatbelt," he said.

Chris's eyebrows rose at the command, but he did as he was told and strapped himself in.

The boat lurched forward and then they were speeding down the waterway towards a circular light that marked the way to freedom. And all the while Chris stared at the back of that blonde head, disturbed at the thought of what might be going on inside it, wondering what he was going to do about the clone once they were free.

They made it to the exit just as the familiar sound of rumbling explosions erupted behind them, the self destruct taking out what was left of the base at Isle Alexandria. It was probably a sign that he'd been doing this job for too long that the sound was incredibly comforting to Chris; another biohazard neutralised. Thank _fuck_.

The boat launched out into the bright daylight and he heard the driver make a strangled noise as it did. Chris looked to see what the problem was and noticed the problem right away; he was getting blinded, trying and failing shielding his eyes against the sun.

The clone had probably never seen daylight before, he realised.

There was a black duffel bag placed next to the seat he was in. He unzipped the top and rummaged through it, finding a folded leather jacket, envelopes of cash in several currencies, a passport under the name of Albert Spencer, and a combat knife. He also, predictably, found a pair of sunglasses - he considered tossing them into the sea, but that wouldn't have been fair.

Chris handed them forward.

"Thanks," the clone said, visibly relieved as he put them on.

"No problem," Chris said, set immediately on edge at the sight. The sunglasses really made him look like the real Albert Wesker. That man who had ruined his life, ruined his colleagues lives, killed some of them. That man he had looked up to once, who he thought was his friend, who he had trusted and who had betrayed him.

Chris' eyes settled on the silver metal of the knife. Slowly, so as not to arouse any suspicion, he removed it from the duffel and slid it into the sock of his uninjured leg, smoothing his pants over it so it wouldn't be visible.

On some level, he knew that there was going to be no choice eventually. He was going to have to either turn the clone in, to face a lifetime of imprisonment and probably experimentation, whether or not he now had the memories of the original Wesker. Or he was going to have to kill him.

At this point, Chris really didn't know which would be kinder.

In the distance, he could see the Blue Umbrella helicopter making its escape in the opposite direction. He doubted they would have seen the boat escaping, as they had gone out of a concealed exit point on the far side of the island, so he was proud of his men for following his orders. It was exactly what he'd trained them to do.

He knew that it wouldn't be long before the chopper was far clear enough for them to unpack the bionuke they'd brought and send it down, to make sure that all of the infected zombies, the hunters and any other monsters lurking were completely eradicated and the outbreak ended.

Job done, he supposed. No different from all the other virus infected places he'd had a hand in shutting down. Except, this time, Chris couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that the job wasn't done. Not yet.

But there was nothing he could do about anything right now. His body was fully slumping with exhaustion, and he leaned his head back to let the blue skies above wash over him. The engine of the boat evened into a steady hum and the white noise of it was soon taking him away into a doze.

When he opened his eyes again, it was getting dark and the boat was slowing down. The moon was full and bright enough to show off the land ahead, the horizon thick with heavy forests beyond a curved bay. The boat went slowly along the placid waters and was finally steered aside gently against a short wooden walkway. The Wesker clone took the mooring rope and climbed out to pull the boat in tightly to it before tethering it in place.

"Where are we?" Chris asked, as the clone jumped back into the boat and moved to help him stand up.

"I'm not really sure."

It didn't escape his notice that the stuttering speech was gone, but Chris said nothing. He was practically lifted out of the boat by a too-strong arm, and half carried forward along the decking towards a door which was partially concealed behind the tall plants and overgrown ivy camouflage around it.

Chris braced himself, expecting another cold Umbrella facility. But the door had no special mechanism for opening; just a metal padlock, like it was an outhouse. The clone snapped that off and helped him forward to a second door, which was also nothing special. The interior door was apparently unlocked, so the clone just pushed it open and reached around to find a lightswitch on the wall.

The lights flicked on to reveal... nothing that Chris was expecting. No labs, no sewers, no computer monitors. If anything, it looked like they had just stepped inside a rustic vacation cabin.

"What the hell is this place?" he asked.

"Safe house." The clone helped Chris hop over to one of the two couches placed beside the big fireplace and gently lowered him down onto it. "S'all just flashes- stray thoughts. He was trying to transfer his mind into me but- but I think maybe you stopped it before it finished."

"Memories?" Chris asked, carefully.

The clone shook his head, not meeting his eyes. "It's a jumble. I can't make sense of it all."

"But you knew that code for silo control."

The clone blinked a few times, but then didn't reply. "There should be some medical supplies here. We should strap your ankle up."

As the Wesker clone went over into the kitchenette area and started rummaging through the cupboards, searching for something, Chris reflected on the fact that the hand that had been broken before was now working just fine, like nothing had happened to it. He was mentally making a tally of the superhuman abilities he had now witnessed in this final clone; healing, speed, strength, though possibly not to the same degree he remembered the original Wesker having. Also, no pulsating bits or tentacles so far, which was a notable blessing.

The clone returned with a medical kit bag and kneeled down at Chris' feet. "Did Wesker have any medical knowledge?" he asked, surreally.

"We all had basic training."

"I think I know what to do," he said, and took out a pair of scissors. "Do you want me to numb the area first?"

"Just get on with it," Chris snapped.

He carefully removed Chris' boot and then cut away both his pants leg and sock. The ankle was swollen angrily and red and purple all over.

"I'm going to need to set the bone properly." The clone took out a syringe from the medical kit and pulled the cap off of it with his teeth. Chris grabbed his hand before he could inject what was inside and gave him a warning look. "Would you prefer to pass out?"

Chris pouted, annoyed at the situation, but let him go ahead. He watched every move made closely, wincing with every careful application of the pain relief. It did take the edge off, but the jolt that came when the bone was set was like a white hot flash delivered directly into his brain, and his vision went grey at the edges.

"Breathe," he heard the voice of Wesker telling him, like they were back in training and he'd taken a stupid fall. "Nearly there."

His ankle was gently pressed into a brace and then strapped all the way around tightly with bandages. It felt a bit too tight, but Chris knew that it needed to be in order to help compress the swelling.

The clone pulled away and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief that the deed was done.

Silently, the medical kit was tidied away and put back into the kitchen. Chris watched him closely and could tell that he was tired, his movements noticeably growing sluggish and uncoordinated. Without saying a word, and swaying a little on his feet, the clone went off aside into another room and he heard the sound of water starting up.

For that matter, he thought he could do with a shower himself, but he was content to wait. The cabin was small enough, and quiet enough, to feel safe for now. Chris reached for his walkie, only to remember that he'd thrown it aside when he thought they were done for. So there was no obvious way to try and contact anybody.

Chris did a visual sweep, looking for cameras or any technology in the walls that might spell danger, but he couldn't see anything. It didn't mean much but he felt better for checking.

He felt himself drifting a little again, the long fight of the day and the tiredness of pain still catching up. The clock over the fireplace told him it was only around eight thirty pm, and when his eyes fluttered open again, it was closer to nine.

He felt more refreshed for it at least, with some of his strength returned. Chris hauled himself up onto his feet, taking care to keep his weight off his ankle. He hopped across to go take a look through the cabin's main window, and could see the water ahead and the boat moored just outside. There was no sign of anyone around even remotely close by. The cabin was very private in its placement and well hidden. Definitely a safe house.

He realised, belatedly, that the shower was still running. That struck him as strange given how much time had passed, so he hopped over to the door and listened in. "Hey," he tried, awkwardly. "You okay in there?"

_He'd better not have run_ , Chris thought. He tried the door and found it unlocked.

There was a pile of clothes on the floor next to the door, and ahead the walk in shower was running. At first it looked empty, but then he saw the haze of a figure down on the floor of the shower stall, blurred by the frosted glass.

Alarmed, he hopped over and pulled the door open. The Wesker clone was completely curled up in the corner against the tiles, eyes closed. Chris turned off the water, which was running cold. The clone looked so pale, Chris leaned in and pressed his fingers to his neck to make sure he was alive. His pulse was steady though, and his eyes fluttered open at the touch.

"Oh," he muttered, blinking. "I was so tired. I couldn't-"

"Been a long day," Chris mumbled, not sure what else to say.

The clone chuckled, and although his voice sounded like Wesker, there was none of the venom he was used to in it. "My birthday," he said, with a wry smile. He reached for the handrail at the side to pull himself up, but looked too depleted to do much of anything.

Chris hooked an arm around him to help him up and onto his feet, keeping his eyes firmly off to one side. Once the clone was standing, he took some shaky breaths, and Chris felt them on his cheek.

When he tried to help him forward, he felt the body tense and hold back. He turned his head and realised that the guy was looking at him with a strange expression.

"What?" he said.

"Just- a memory, I think," the clone muttered, confused. "Nothing."

"No really, what?"

"Showers. Just- it doesn't matter. Help me out."

Chris helped him far enough for him to grab a towel from the rack, then he turned around to give him some privacy.

"I don't feel so good," the clone said, and swayed as if he was about to pass out.

Chris grabbed him again and held him up. "Come on," he sighed, and helped him out of the bathroom. Right across the way was an open door and Chris could see that there was a bed inside.

He helped the clone forward, the pair of them hobbling slowly along together out of the bathroom and across and over the threshold of the bedroom ahead. Chris just about got him to the bed before his strength was just about gone as well.

The clone shuffled himself up onto the bed and seemed to pass out the moment his head hit the pillow, apparently not caring that he was still wet through.

Chris watched him for moment, really not sure what to think. The hard headed soldier in him thought about ending it right then and there; a swift, painless knife to the throat perhaps. The clone was defenceless right now and if he really was dealing with the early stages of a resurgent Albert Wesker, which he couldn't discount as likely, he should kill him while it was still possible.

Instead, he hopped slowly out of the room and went back to crash onto the couch again, needing to gather his thoughts and start figuring out some sort of plan.

Time passed in contemplation, and then as the night drew in, he realised that it was starting to get a little cold. So Chris carefully threw in some of the logs from the storage pen beside the fireplace and got a nice crackling fire going. Then, after he felt warmed enough to get up, he decided to go and get properly cleaned up as well, increasingly aware of how bad he smelled after wading through all that sewage water and getting splattered with so much gross stuff on the base.

Chris crept into the bedroom to go find some clothes from the closet that he might be able to change into, and he couldn't help but notice that the towel had come loose enough on the sleeping man to show off a hip. The moonlight was coming in from the window and it made the clone's pale skin look translucent. He looked like some sort of painting.

It felt wrong to look, but even more wrong to feel that old stirring of something he didn't want to think about uncoiling in his belly. Chris shoved it down hard, the same way he always did, and concentrated on finding what he came for.

With some fresh clothes in hand, he headed to the bathroom and took a shower, careful to try and keep his foot out to the side to avoid getting the bandages wet. It felt good to scrub it all off, though his conflicted thoughts kept him from truly relaxing into it.

The water went cold pretty fast, but that suited him fine. If anything, he needed it. He couldn't believe he was back here, like the last ten years had never happened, and he was just a young guy, excited to get hand-picked for an assignment in special tactics, impressed by his highly skilled yet curiously aloof boss. A young guy, pleased to quickly become the Captain's favourite, determined to prove himself. A young guy, too blind to see that he was being played.

Chris had beaten himself up over it a lot over the years, to the point that even Claire had told him it was time to move on and put Albert Wesker behind him.

Kind of hard to do that when the closest thing to Albert Wesker around was passed out on top of a bed across the hallway. And when morning came, he knew that he would have to face his predicament head on, because he couldn't let the clone go.

But did he seriously expect him to come in without a fight? Chris honestly didn't know.

He got out of the cold spray and took a moment to dry himself off before carefully pulling on the clothes he'd found. The pants were a bit too long and the shirt a bit too tight, but it would do. He made sure to slide the combat knife into the back waistband of his pants, still needing to keep it close, just in case.

As he left the bathroom, he couldn't help but glance back towards the bedroom. He started when he realised that the bed was empty.

Chris instinctively burst in through the door, immediately assuming the worst.

"Looking for someone?"

He span around and found the Wesker clone sitting in a chair in the corner, still in the towel, hunched over with his head in his hand.

Chris didn't have a good response, so he said nothing.

"My head hurts," the clone said, quietly, and then gave Chris a strange look. "Can you sit for a minute? I think we should talk... now that I can, that is."

He didn't feel too comfortable doing it, but Chris didn't want to be an asshole. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm listening," he said.

The clone looked at him for a long moment, unreadable emotions playing across his face. "I know what you're thinking. The memories and thoughts are- they're here. Not mine. Not yet. I think- I think it's only a matter of time though. I can't fight it much longer." He sighed, bitterly. "I know you can't let me go."

There was no point in pretending any more, Chris realised. "Yeah," he agreed.

"I know why he hated you so much," he said, with some intensity, though he wasn't meeting Chris' eyes. "We hate the things we want, and can't have." At last, his gaze lifted and he gave Chris a sad smile. He slowly got to his feet and stepped over towards the bed, letting the towel fall away as he did.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked, his mouth going dry and his heart picking up the pace considerably.

A hand pressed onto his cheek, as if there was real feeling behind the caress. Suddenly they were kissing, just softly at first, but with a quickening fire that deepened as something hungry in Chris couldn't help but lean in.

"Wait," Chris gasped, and he broke away, some semblance of his senses breaking through. "I d-don't- I mean... how did you know?"

The clone smiled, sadly. "He knew," he said, and pulled him in for another devouring kiss.

Chris wanted to lose himself in it, so much, but he just couldn't. Not after everything that had gone down... knowing who and what he was. He had to pull away, tough though it was, because this was just not something he could do and then live with.

"He used to pose for you, in the showers," the clone confessed, breathlessly. "He knew you were looking. He liked it. He liked it too much." A hand slid against Chris' hand and entwined their fingers. "It made him crazy, the way he couldn't stop himself."

"God," Chris groaned, the words shooting electricity straight down into his groin. "Why are you doing this?"

"If this all I get," Five told him, firmly, "Then I want the one thing he always wanted and couldn't have. And I want him to know that this memory will always be mine - not his."

It didn't entirely make sense to Chris, and that must have shown in his expression because the Wesker duplicate drew back for a moment. He then lifted Chris' hand and pressed his lips to his knuckles with a surprising tenderness. "I was alone, and there you were," he said, softly. Then a hand slid around Chris' waist and, with a quick motion, the knife was pulled from his waistband and held aloft. But it wasn't being held as a threat, the clone just dangled it, calmly. "You gave me your knife, when you didn't have to." He tossed it aside, and kissed the concerned crease in Chris' forehead away. "You should have killed me."

"But I didn't."

"Yes, you didn't. Chris, I'm not doing this because of him. I'm doing this because _I_ want to."

That clicked for Chris. This guy had not really had a lot of choices so far about anything. And maybe it was the heady feeling of knowing, after all this time, tha`t the spark he'd thought he felt between himself and the Captain all that time ago had been real, or maybe it was just that he hadn't been touched like this in such a long time, but he was starting to forget all the reasons this was a bad idea.

With another heady kiss, a brand new mad new world of possibilities opened up and Chris tumbled, head first into it, forgetting everything except that he needed this.

"Happy birthday to me," the clone chuckled against his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

Chris stretched his arms and took a deep breath, his body feeling contented and warm in unfamiliar ways. He rubbed his tummy a little, not yet awake enough to open his eyes, but feeling the afterglow of what had to have been a very pleasant evening.

He didn't remember immediately what he'd been doing, and when it all came back to him, he froze, his eyes opening wide.

Had it been a dream? Looking from side to side and realised, it can't have been. He was still in the cabin safe house's bedroom, and the bed was a wreck, with feathers from the pillows lying around everywhere. Plus, Chris was completely naked under the sheets, which only meant one thing.

Memories began to hit him of the crazy night he'd just had. Chris had never fully let himself imagine before what a night with Captain Wesker might have been like. Small stray thoughts here and there, sure, but nothing like this.

It had been everything; everything and more.

He'd kissed that slender yet strong body all over, neck to chest, chest to belly, and he'd tasted everything he had to offer beyond.

It had been beautiful, seeing him lie back and spread himself so readily, hiding absolutely nothing and reaching for Chris, begging for Chris to do everything he'd ever wanted to him.

Insatiable was the word, like the clone was trying to live a whole lifetime of desire in one night. Chris remembered touching him inside with his tongue, his fingers, and he remembered that he'd taken him hard, their foreheads pressed together, Wesker's voice all around him, asking for more, for more, for more. For him to give him everything and hold nothing back.

And then, after cooling in his arms, a hard and fast second go, with Chris over him, skin sticking together, the body pressed down and his hands clawing holes in the mattress. That familiar voice whimpering with raw pleasure, the crest of his pleasure causing him to arch his back in a way which was utterly _gorgeous_ to Chris somehow.

It was a night lived in another reality. Ended with a final long, slow, tender joining, where all sense of time was lost, and all they knew was each other, Chris rocking into him, bodies trembling towards something that could never be taken back.

Chris didn't remember going to sleep at all; hadn't intended to, but it had somehow happened and now it was dawn. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and took a moment to survey the damage around him, unable to help his slight smile at the fact that the mattress was definitely a write off.

_Damn_ , but it had been something else. He was still tingling from head to toe.

Who might Albert Wesker been, he wondered, before he'd been corrupted? The thought of that came to him and he couldn't let it go.

After he had died in that volcano, Chris had read some files that were released around then on the Wesker children. About how they had all been taken from their parents at an early age and experimented on by the Spencer Foundation. It was no excuse for what Wesker had ultimately become, but he felt like he'd seen a glimpse of something that proved he could have turned out quite differently, had he only been left alone. The same was probably true of his sister Alex, Chris guessed, though it was too late for her.

He daydreamed a reality where he could bring this Wesker-lookalike in, all would be explained and lenience shown, and they'd be able to do this again. A lot more. Maybe always.

But that wasn't the reality he was in, and Chris knew he had to get his head back on straight. He was more hopeful that he could persuade the clone to turn himself over, at least. They didn't need to fight anymore; not now, not after everything. And maybe he could argue that it was better for someone like that to be on their side in the fight.

Chris put his feet to the floor and tested his broken ankle. It still hurt like a sonofabitch, but it was still strapped up tightly and that helped. He couldn't put much weight on it still, but it was tolerable. He pulled his discarded sweatpants on and stood up, taking a moment to stretch his still-aching muscles. Then he hopped over to the door.

He could hear water running, and Chris realised that it was coming from the bathroom. A small spike of excitement vibrated in his belly at the thought of the shower... of going into the shower, the two of them under the water spray. He saw it in his mind's eye, that beautiful body arching to his touch, water droplets rolling down them both as he pressed inside, his darker hands almost bruising the pale flesh that was presented to him without a word as he took exactly what he wanted...

The thought made him groan with want and he immediately knew that he had to stop. This was no time to lose his mind. He was still a special forces tactician with a job to do and that had to come first.

Chris hobbled over, took another moment to breathe and cool off, and then pushed the door open. As before, the frosted door made it look like there was no one in there, so he moved in closer. It was left just a little ajar, and he pushed it, his mouth opening to speak.

But this time, it really was empty.

"Shit," he gasped, and spun around. Chris half hopped, half ran out of there, looking around the lounge room and kitchenette, frantically.

He went hurriedly over to the window and saw that the boat was gone. Chris burst out of the front door and hopped down the walkway where it had been. He span around, but he was definitely alone.

Something glinted in the sunlight and caught his eye. He spotted his combat knife, upright with the tip embedded in the wood, right at the end of the walkway. There was a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze under its point.

Chris pressed his lips together hard, knowing that it could only mean one thing.

He was really gone.

It hurt more than he expected it would.

Chris slumped down next to the knife and glanced at the paper underneath it. It looked like a map, so he tugged the weapon out of the wood to free it, picking it up to take a closer look.

It was a local area map and showed him where he was in relation to nearby villages, at least. A kindness, he guessed, so that he could find a way out of there, even without the boat. Chris didn't know what to think really though. It seemed so impersonal somehow, to leave that and nothing else.

But then Chris turned it over on a hunch. His breath caught as he saw that it was also a note, and the handwriting was very familiar. Part of him wanted to just fold it and not read it, knowing that it was going to be painful, whatever it said. In the end, he knew he had to do it.

_Dear Chris,_

_Game over._

_Rest assured, if our paths cross again, I will kill you._

_It'll be just like old times._

_Yours,_

_Albert Wesker_

Chris closed his eyes against hot tears that threatened to spill over, and he crushed the note against his chest while he sat there, gathering himself, breathing with the rhythm of the waters.

So that was it, and he knew it. The clone had said it was coming - the thoughts and memories were taking him over and he couldn't stop it. And now Albert fucking Wesker was back in the world.

Maybe the whole thing had been another game. Maybe he'd played him, just like he always did.

Except, the knife told Chris something else. He could have killed him at any time in the night, no question. Yet he hadn't.

A small silver thread of hope existed in the blade. It felt like a message, sent in a private language, just for him.

_You gave me your knife... and I gave you mine..._ his mind whispered, in the softer Wesker voice of the clone.

A smile came across his features as he looked at it.

"You're wrong Wesker," he said into the ether. "This game is only just beginning."

Chris slid the knife into his waistband and went back into the cabin.

It was time to start planning.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's it - thanks so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this story! 
> 
> UPDATE: Okay, I admit it, I do have a fun idea for a sequel to this. So if enough people want it, I'll go there. Let me know below!


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